In Which I Do Something Very Silly

It just goes to show -- it's the little things that get ya.

On Monday night, I suffered an indignity. Like most of the indignities I suffer, this one contained some comedic value, and seeing how my desire to write about funny things on my blog clearly outweighs my sense of....well.....dignity, I'll share.

My mishap occurred while I was returning from a dinner party. My beautiful and trusty truck is out of commission at the moment, so I'd traveled to said dinner party by bicycle [NOTE: my truck is out of commission not due to a mechanical problem, but rather a financial one; it is neither registered, nor insured, so no joy-rides of late. For the record, she's running beautifully.] On the way there, I made it the scant ten blocks or so between my house and my destination without incident, riding with one hand, pot of beans in the other. [Yes, I brought a pot of beans to a dinner party, and they were really fucking tasty, thank you very much -- there's a recession going on and I'm unemployed -- what do ya want from me people? Pâté?] Now personally, I would argue that riding with a pot of beans in one hand is a good way to arrive at a dinner party fully prepared and on time. Others might argue that riding a bicycle with a pot of beans in one hand is a good way to spill that pot of beans on the street. I was determined to win that argument, and keep the beans where they belonged: in the pot, unspilled. I am many things, but not a bean spiller. After dinner, I headed home with a nearly-empty pot of beans (told you they were tasty), so I assumed my return crossing would be easier than before. Make that wrongly assumed.


I carried my bike down the stairs, placed it on the sidewalk, and threw one leg over the top tube. One hand holding my nearly-empty pot of beans, I stood on the pedal and started moving. Before I'd gone more than 20 meters, while passing the side entrance of whatever business is at the corner of Burke and 45th, my front wheel hit a chink in the sidewalk. My bars went completely sideways, and I fuckin' endo'd like a I was on a penny farthing hitting the trolley tracks. I fell flat on my face, and somehow vaulted my bike over my head. It soared through the air and landed in front of me. I whacked my right knee, right calf, left calf, right elbow, and left palm. The lid from the pot of beans skeetered down the street making quite a racket, but my grip on the pot itself never faltered, and not a bean hit the ground. For the record: I DID NOT SPILL THE BEANS!

I lay there on the street for a few seconds -- completely astonished at the level of damage I'd just caused myself. I was going roughly 5 miles per hour. An old man with a greasy apron poked his head out of the side entrance of whatever business is at the corner of Burke and 45th, no doubt alerted by my skeetering pot lid. He looked at me lying face down on the ground, firmly clutching a dented saucepan. Then he looked at my bike a few feet away. Confident he wasn't being burgled -- just some idiot crashin' his bike out there -- the guy wiped his hands on his apron and went inside. I picked myself up, winced, and walked home, with a limp.

My knees took the worst of it. I can't quite believe it, but my crash inflamed a tendon in my left knee. It's been bothering me all week, and has rendered me pretty much worthless on the bike until it heals. BLAST! 5 miles per hour people!

Like I said, it's the little things that get ya.